"I did not say. But I do now. I will give sixty thousand lire."
The carter sneered. "Six thousand lire!" he shouted angrily. "More money I could get for one old, deaf, mangy donkey with red blotches and no hair." He spat on the ground with as much venom as if he had hit the man with his spittle.
Signor Busisi remained unruffled, waiting for a noisy motorcycle to go by. "I said sixty thousand lire," he repeated, more loudly this time.
The change in the carter was electric. He bowed low, kissing the Signore's hand.
Quick as a flash the mare took advantage of her owner's bent position. She drew back her lips, and with her big teeth pinched hard through the seat of his trousers.
"Ee-ee-ee-ow!" he screeched, trying in vain to break the viselike grip. It was only by the intervention of the laughing Signor Busisi that she let go.
Rubbing his bruised flesh, the carter promptly agreed that for the sum of sixty thousand lire he would deliver the mare to Siena in a day or two.
Signor Busisi suddenly felt young and strong again. Trying to suppress his laughter, he jackknifed his big frame into his car, swung into the road and roared on to Casalino, thinking, planning, dreaming. Somehow he would do it again—bring the right man and the right horse together. It was a never-failing source of wonderment to him how it came about. That black gelding he had sold to a man of the clergy, and the trick sorrel to a clown in the circus....
His thoughts broke off. He was nearing the warehouse where the ox skins would be already dried and dressed, awaiting his selection. He must put the mare out of his mind; and he did. For the time being.